THE DAY MAMA STOLE THE FIREWOOD...

  A FAVORITE THANKSGIVING MEMORY

   I wish there were a photograph, a little instamatic black and white would do, so I could frame it for future generations to enjoy.  But there isn't and memories are all that remain.  

It was a beautiful fall day; the leaves were at their brightest as far as fall trees in Louisiana could be.  The sky couldn't have been any clearer.  You could see your breath in the early morning light.  It was the mid 1950's.  I was 14 and my brother 10.  Thanksgiving morning.  The family had plans to visit some German friends of my parents, in south Louisiana, later in the day, to share the Thanksgiving meal.

My brother and I were waked up early with daddy's shrill whistle.  He had a way of doing that when he wanted something done immediately.  We hopped out of bed and were given orders to hitch up a trailer  to the truck and then go with our mother to pick up a load of firewood. The man, a Mr. Wilson, owed daddy some money and since he was unable to pay, suggested daddy take some firewood in exchange for payment.  We were to do this before we left for south Louisiana.

 He was sending - yes, that is the operative word - the three of us to get the firewood from a place in Buckeye, a small community outside of Alexandria because he had some business to attend to while we were gone.  

After giving directions and some verbal communication from my mother with an attitude, we set off.  She still had not finished cooking the dish we were to bring, and Buckeye was out in the country with lots of winding roads.  She didn't know the area like daddy did. we listened to the tirade most of the way there.  "He always does this to me," she fumed.  "He never thinks I have anything else to do.  I have food to finish.  I have you four kids to round up.  I have to drop everything and go.   But could he go? Oh, no.  He has to send me!" My brother and I were silent, afraid to set her off again if we spoke.  

We wandered the roads in the country, looking for the house daddy described.  It took quite a long time. Mother, in her madness, had forgotten the exact directions.  (This would not be a problem, today, because of cell phones, but we didn't have that luxury in the 1950's.)  The more we drove the more mother thought of things she had to do before leaving for Crowley.  The more she thought of things she had to do before leaving for Crowley, the more upset she became.  The more upset she became, the more she thought of things that she had to do.  The more upset, the more we had to listen.        

Finally, she spotted a huge pile of wood stacked against a pasture fence, newly cut, close to the road.  “That’s the place,” she said.  “He said the woodpile was not near the house. This must be it.”  The house was a good 100 yards away and mother didn't see the need to knock on their door since we were in a hurry.  She backed the trailer up to the pile of wood and ordered us to hurry and load it on the trailer.  

When almost all had been loaded, a woman came out of the house, shouting at us.  

“Who did you think you are?  My husband just cut that wood this morning.  You're stealing our wood,” she shouted.  Mother snapped.  “I am Mrs. Cecil Blair.  We are not stealing your wood.   Your husband owes my husband money, and we are taking this wood for payment.”   Mother told us to keep loading the trailer.  The woman ran into the house.  Mama thought she might be going for a gun and ordered us to hurry and quickly get in the truck.  As the truck started, a man came roaring down the road and into the yard, trying to block us, but mama managed to maneuver around him.  We headed for home as fast as she could drive.  Again, we listened to her tirade all the way home, except this time she added, "Surely daddy called them and told them we were coming today. I bet that rascal forgot.  Now we are going to be accused of stealing."  This was followed by words I shouldn't repeat  She also mentioned those crazy people not wanting to pay.

We arrived home and began unloading the wood while mama hurried into the house, mumbling bad things against my daddy.

Suddenly a Sheriff's car drove up.  The sheriff got out of his car and asked my brother and me some questions. He then asked mama to come outside, but she replied she didn't have time, she had a dish to prepare for Thanksgiving and finish packing.  He asked her about the wood.  She explained that that man, Mr. Wilson owed her husband some money, that she didn't have time for this because we were going to Crowley for Thanksgiving with some friends and she still had to finish the dish she was making, bathe and change clothes and make sure all the four children were getting dressed and ready.  The sheriff tried to interrupt her, but she didn't hear him and shouted for us, boys, to hurry up unloading.  There was too much to do.  Finally, the sheriff said, “Mrs. Blair, I understand your frustration, but what did you say the man's name was where you took the wood?”  She said, Mr. Wilson out in Buckeye.  He looked at his tablet and said, “Mrs. Blair, you were not at Mr. Wilson's house.  You stole that wood. I'm going to have to arrest you.”  Thankfully, daddy arrived home before they took her away and straightened the matter up.  

And, yes, we had to take the wood back before leaving for Crowley.  Two boys did not like that Thanksgiving day.  

© Nippy Blair 2015. Posts and pictures on this blog cannot be copied, downloaded, printed, or used without the permission of the blog owner, Nippy Blair.

                   BOUDREAUX’S MOTHER

Proverbs 10:2 Ill-gotten treasures are of no value, but righteousness delivers from death.

  Boudreaux's mother works hard for a living.  She is a roust-a-bout on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico.  No one messes with her because she has the reputation of being the toughest and meanest of the whole crew and nobody, I mean nobody, is going to find out if there is any truth it.

 When working you can see the tobacco juice streaming down her chin and neck as she works the tobacco around her cheeks and under her tongue, occasionally spitting a large wad over her left shoulder.  The men hate working beside her because frequently they become the target of the wad as it sprays their faces mixed with salt water.

At home she isn’t much different.  She remains the uncouth terror of the area bars, out wrestling, out drinking and certainly out cussing everyone else.

Boudreaux’s mother lives on Bayou Lafourche, the bayou side of Highway One, just past Thibodeaux, on two acres, no wider than 30 feet from bayou to highway, with her half-sister, Lula Mae, and three children, two of them hers, Boudreaux, and Bubba.  Abilene belongs to Lula Mae.

The compound looks like a circus has rolled into town.  On one end is a small garden that supplies all the food for this unusual, dysfunctional family of five.  On the other are the trailers, lined up like a freight train, seven trailers lined in a single row, each connected by a never-ending wide porch.  Boudreaux’s mother has collected the trailers through the years from her seven ex-husbands as part of the divorce settlements.

Each trailer has its own function.  One is the living room, followed by the dining trailer, the kitchen trailer, Boudreaux’s mother’s bedroom. Lula Mae’s quarters, the children’s quarters, and the laundry/bathroom (even though they do not own a washing machine, only a scrub board for washing clothes in the bayou, which isn’t used for its primary purpose.)  When Lula Mae is home alone with the kids the scrub board becomes a musical instrument.  Lula Mae loves leading the motley crew around the train of trailers while keeping time to the loud music with the scrub board and two spoons from Boudreaux’s mother’s best silver collection from the third marriage.  Boudreaux’s mother isn’t bothered by this because she’s never home long enough to know the silver is missing.

If she isn’t on the rig, then she is at the local bars till the sun rises.  Most nights she is so stinking drunk that she never finds her way home.  Lula Mae usually must fetch her from some ditch the next day.

Boudreaux’s mother (no one really knows her real given name) recently stated that she needs a new trailer since seven has not been her lucky number and that eight would be exactly right.  This means that she will be trolling for a new husband.  She believes that eight might even bring her luck in winning the lotto and besides, Boudreaux is getting too old to keep sleeping in the same room with his cousin.

Boudreaux’s mother was recently seen outside Little Joe’s Doghouse, dressed up, fit to kill, out hunting for a man; a real man, a man that has a brand-new trailer.  She is not interested in someone to take care of her.  No one can do that, at least not one in his right mind.  She figures that if she catches one then she only need stay with him long enough to get the paperwork signed over in her name before she gets him too drunk and helps him accidentally fall into the bayou.

 Bless her heart, she is a recreant that needs redemption.

© Nippy Blair 2015. Posts and pictures on this blog cannot be copied, downloaded, printed, or used without the permission of the blog owner, Nippy Blair.

MARTHA MAE JOHNSON

 Psalm 44:26   Rise up and help us; Redeem us because of your unfailing love.

 

 

Martha Mae is a true Southern Lady who goes by both Christian names because that is the proper thing to do for ladies of her standing in the South.  She lives on the family plantation that generations of her family have owned in North Louisiana.  Martha Mae has always loved animals and since her papa died and left the estate to her, owns an obedience school for wayward, rebellious animals named “The Martha Mae Redemptive Clinic and Spa for Rebellious Animals”.  Since early childhood, Martha Mae felt a kinship with unruly creatures.  Rumor has it that Martha Mae was quite the “wild one” herself during adolescence.  There was something exciting about the way the animals bullied others and yet she sensed a deep desire, on their part, to be controlled.  She felt she could identify with their rebelliousness. 

 Martha Mae’s Redemptive Clinic and Spa for Rebellious Animals has been in existence for ten years.  Clients from all over the South send their little darlings to Martha Mae.  She has a unique way of communicating with them, unlike anything you have ever witnessed.  For instance, when communicating with birds she flaps her arms and walks with her knees touching, making sounds unlike any bird we know, but it doesn’t bother her.  When getting the attention of a dog she has been known to move about on all fours and sniff inappropriate places. You can imagine how she communicates with pigs.  Some people consider her behavior a bit eccentric, to put it mildly.  Others think she has completely lost her mind and needs to be institutionalized.  It doesn’t bother Martha Mae.  She knows her gift from God is genuine and no one I know can argue with a genuine God given talent.   Bless her heart, she has become a guru to the rich and famous who flock to those who seem a little bit too far left of center. 

With all this publicity she has begun to write books.  Recently Martha Mae completed her third book titled “Raising Christian Animals.  How to be assured your pet will go to Heaven.”  Her first publication was “Baby Signs for Cats” dealing with the vast vocabulary infant kittens learn to recognize and respond to as they communicate with humans.  Its success brought on her second book titled “Warning Signs” which dealt with the subject of pets on drugs.  Martha Mae explored in detail how to recognize the many warning signals animals give when doing drugs.  It sold very well among celebrities causing it to be number one for ten weeks on the bestseller list.  She is currently working on a new book that will deal with recognizing the artistic creativity in chickens.

Martha Mae is currently touring the country promoting her expertise as an Animal Behaviorist.  Recently she was on Jimmy Kimmel and just last week visited Jenna’s Book Club.  She once appeared on America’s Got Talent, where she was to interpret the body language of caged lions but then the audience decided she herself should be caged. 

You may purchase her books at $29.95 each from her website: marthamaewild.com or in Christian bookstores located only in malls.

 

© Nippy Blair 2015. Posts and pictures on this blog cannot be copied, downloaded, printed, or used without the permission of the blog owner, Nippy Blair.